Call Me Quizzical
by The Illegible
Summary: They appreciate without quite understanding.


She is just another platinum blonde, bubblegum-popping, overdone-and-artificial brat he observes with disdain from his table. She comes to the Iceberg Lounge then orders a soda, sipping it through a bendy straw, perched precariously on her barstool. Beside her, the Joker laughs like a hyena wearing lipstick. She glances his way, blue eyes rolling around in her skull before creasing as she spreads her mouth to smile. The straw is crushed by her teeth. Eddie winces.

Later she introduces herself as Harley Quinn, and it's a painfully obvious name considering the costume she wears (red and black checkerboarding up and down, form-fitted under a jester's hat) but not her old occupation. Arkham psychiatrist apparently, doctorate earned. He offers skepticism, and in her Brooklyn accent she has the nerve to cackle before condescending to tell him he's _cute_. As if he was some idiot.

Well, she'll just have to see about that.

* * *

The Riddler likes the sound of his own voice, but to be fair he does sound pretty good. Way better than he has right to, considering how he sings himself praises using language unnecessarily complicated on every imaginable level. He considers himself a man of mystery, linking words like poetry with rhythms tripping off his tongue wrapping her in circles to decipher with the clear expectation that he's well beyond her reach.

People have underestimated Harley all her life. He's not all that special, really, not as unique as he wants to be. So her grin is very real and very amused as she answers in kind, in her own way. Light, chirping, quick-comprehensible quips making clear he's not over her head but she operates under different rules, outside the categories he wants to define her by.

And oooooooh, how that _ticks him off_.

* * *

They get to talking shop one day, and Eddie lets slip that he has something planned. Bigger deathtraps, messages embedded in youtube videos and urban symbols—whole buildings lit up with questions while his pocket fills with Gotham's life savings and Batman finally comes up short. Harley raises her eyebrows, and comments that this is all perfectly well and good but lets just say things don't work out. How's he planning to defend himself against the Dark Knight, hm? And he takes that as an insult, a show of disbelief, but Harley Quinn can be practical when the mood strikes her. She asks about weaponry and hired help and how good he is with a bazooka.

Eddie doesn't much care for bazookas. They lack subtlety and tend to cause a mess.

It's clear she's annoying him, so he lets slip that this all seems a bit outside her department. Joker knows how to use a bazooka. He'll get bored, and when that happens there's not much reason for him to keep her around is there?

Naturally, she can't help giggling when she asks if he'd like to see her hammer.

* * *

She is constantly in motion, sledge swinging effortlessly as a baton slamming into officers spraying blood cracking bone dislodging bodily necessities like brains and eyes and other organs while she sends herself spinning through space. Like a dancer she is light on her feet, skipping out of harm's way to stick her tongue out at everyone trying to shoot her, dodging bullets faster and more fluid than she has any right to be. She's so _short_, but muscles line her frame and he studies the shifts in under-the-surface discipline from security cameras and reluctantly admits to himself that she's _good_.

* * *

She'll never tell Eddie that he's genetically blessed—he's smug enough, and it's more fun to see him exasperated anyway. But he's got that narrow-jawed, sharp-nosed, dark-eyed model look going on. Totally a pretty boy, must've got him some admirers that never managed to meet his standards. The whole world is inadequate, and it's a shame, and she has to wonder where THAT line of thinking came from.

He's painfully narcissistic. She knows his life was boring as hell before all this, so it's gotta be a kind of compensation.

Or something.

Neither of them is in this for sob stories, and he's funny when he doesn't mean to be, and honestly it's nice to see him splutter all-indignant when she succumbs to impulse and ruffles his hair. Which is a great shade of reddish brown, and if he ever dyes it he's a moron, and she tells him so.

Of course, when he comes back ginger the next week it's so tragically _petty_ she can't help but laugh.

As if that's going to stop her.

* * *

He's not used to being touched so casually, isn't sure where she got the idea but once it takes hold it becomes habit. She takes to draping herself over his shoulders, yawning in his ear, collapsing melodramatically into his lap when she hears something scandalous, generally making herself a pest.

He rolls his eyes, sighs loudly and calls her an infant, but he doesn't push her off when it's obvious he could and complains less than he might have.

* * *

One day she's yammering on about something ridiculous and trivial and moderately amusing, and her nose wrinkles as she reaches a point that causes some contempt, and on a whim he reaches forward and flicks her there. Just a quick little thing, not particularly forceful, but she looks so shocked that he chuckles.

The smile that crosses her face after that is awful and sinister and she leans forward a little before informing him that _this means war_.

* * *

She has bells at the end of her tassels, and they jingle as she moves. It drives her crazy when Eddie yanks them like a seven year old boy, bringing her cowl completely off kilter. Naturally he does it whenever she's not paying attention.

One day she steals his bowler in retaliation and wears it to her next heist. The media is beside itself with confusion and the whole thing is _terribly_ embarrassing, but he finds himself grinning anyway.

* * *

Her relationship with the Joker eludes him. Not that it's beyond his ability to figure out, but she knows the man better than he does or wants to, the risks outweigh the rewards, so one day he just asks her outright. Does the clown take issue with her associating with say, Poison Ivy, the Scarecrow, certain sharp-dressed men in green?

Harley raises an eyebrow, pauses for longer than he'd expect, then explains that their relationship is complicated.

The Joker isn't like the rest of them. He doesn't think he's human enough to invest in anyone personally, and maybe that's even true. He's the most interesting challenge she's ever faced, and she loves that about him (sort of), but he probably doesn't care what she gets up to.

In case he was wondering.

Eddie finds himself frowning into his hands, which are folded in front of him on the table. It's more pieces to fit together than he'd expected.

Harley's fingers snap up between his eyes before he realizes what's happening, and the contact stings for a moment, but really it's only fair.

* * *

He walks her back to her hideout one day. She marches with his question mark cane for a while, incorrectly reciting songs from _The Music Man_. It looks stupid, but she doesn't care and he isn't stopping her.

When they arrive, she holds it out to him with both hands, and when he leans forward to take it she pops up on her toes and suddenly her lips are planted against his.

It's only a moment, and he can't think fast enough to take it all in. She beams, like some insufferable pixie, and says "Thanks, Eddie!" before heading straight for the door. Harley Quinn disappears.

He remains there for some time afterward. The cane rests on the ground at his feet.

When he finally leaves, he's humming under his breath.


End file.
